


In the Jaws of the Monster

by Gamemakers



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Annie-Centric, F/M, Mild Gore, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamemakers/pseuds/Gamemakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joining Squad 451's mission to the Capitol will destroy Annie Cresta. That is, if her own mind doesn't do the job first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We could live in a nightmare after the war. It'd be like going home.

Annie wonders if waiting was part of the challenge. If she was designing the test, she'd include it. The room has no clock, nothing on the walls, only a stainless steel bench and a woman whose crescent-moon nail marks all up her arms chronicle hours of waiting and anxiety. It is maddening, and she should know. These last few years, madness has been Annie Cresta's constant companion.

The walls of the room are creeping in towards her. At first, she'd thought it was all in her mind, another symptom left over from her days,  _or weeks, or perhaps only hours, it's impossible to tell, but you can't think about that now, you need to focus_ in solitary confinement. But when, as she so often does, she closes her eyes, covers her ears, and counts to ten  _because ten is long enough for Mother Silence to shoo away the monsters so everything is real again,_ nothing has changed.  _But not even Mother Silence can always be trusted to do as she ought._

Perhaps this room shrinks and disappears when it is not needed.  _Perhaps she'll disappear with it. Just like Thirteen does with its trash, they'll squeeze her, mold her into a perfect cube and send her up to the surface to rot. Compressed into a little cube of Annie, nobody would be able to tell that this one was different from the others. No one would ever have to know what happened._ She finds herself curling in on herself, making their job that little bit easier by tucking her legs against her chest. It's how she came into this world; she might as well leave this way as well. The light brightens, and it can only means she's right,  _for look, the rest of the room sparkles like diamonds now, and perhaps you're a diamond too now, they're pressing so hard that it has to be._

"Private Cresta. You may enter the exam room now."  _Death speaks only in whispers._ This woman's voice belongs to the living. She opens her eyes to see that the door has opened, but Annie doubts that what lies beyond will be any true escape. Her mind screams to stay, for untold dangers wait beyond, but still she finds herself moving into the light. It's brilliant, like the sun that never shines underground.

As much as she wants to allow the people to fade away in favor of the bright, yellow lights, the commander overseeing her exam refuses to be forgotten. The woman, her face all angles, her eyes too stern, her pose too rigid  _and the most rigid collapse in the wind while the yielding remain after the storm is gone,_ gives her what she's learned passes for a smile in Thirteen. "Your task is to get to the center of the village and take out the target. It's the figure in red – you shouldn't have any trouble picking him out."  _Of course he is. Targets are always red. In Training, the targets were white board with red circles on them, but in the Arena, you only see the red in your targets once you'd cut the life out of them. It's almost kind of her to mark them so obviously._ There's a weight being pressed into her hands, and she knows she's been practicing with these guns for weeks now, but that doesn't mean she's ready for this, and the woman's words are so close to Mags' before she sent Annie into the Arena. She's trained for that, too. She had been so certain she was ready. "Good luck, Private Cresta."

In an instant, everything changed.  _Or perhaps it was nothing at all, for entire cities do not appear from nothing. But as Snow showed you, nothing can appear from where a city once stood in an instant._ That's all backwards, and it's time to go forwards. Her hands wrap tightly around the gun as she takes her first, cautious steps into the village before her. After the war, maybe she and Finnick can find somewhere nice like this, where plants are potted on the front steps and one can so easily imagine children playing in the streets that she swears she hears their laughter. And here she is, walking through their streets with a gun.  _We could live in a nightmare after the war. It'd be like going home._ She quashes down the thought as she continues further and further into their world. They aren't real; there are no children here, there can't be. There are almost no children in Thirteen, and they would not endanger those precious few for one mad girl's training exercise.

Shadows lurk everywhere she looks, and Annie could swear that a few of them are crawling towards her, ready to snag her by her ankle and draw her back into their depths. She has to keep moving, steal away any chance they have of catching her and swallowing her whole. She must be close now, for children's shouts and laughter have turned into screams of terror.  _They could be children. When we become afraid enough, everyone is a child again._ The streets are lit by dancing flames , and shadows leap along the golden-orange light, for nightmares are demons' playgrounds. Smoke stings her eyes and nose, but she resists pulling her uniform over her face. She's too close to fail now. Snow will pay for what he's done to her, to Finnick, to everyone, and a bit of smoke will not block her path to the Capitol. Her hands have never been steadier on her rifle than as she takes her first steps into the plaza, scanning everywhere for any hint of her target. Remembering her training, Annie stays close to the brick walls, close enough that she can feel the fire on the other side through her back. Better to be warm  _roasted alive_ than picked off by a sniper watching for anyone to enter the square.

 _Red._ How could she have been so stupid? This is meant to be a test, of course they would –  _No, no, no, you can't do this, they'll take you with him, and you'll be drowning in it, and_ he's practically bathed in it, blood everywhere.  _Blood's thicker than water, that's what they say. They're right, the way it runs down your fingers when you put your hand into it, the way it flows…_ Her heart's racing, and Annie can't breathe. The man smiles at her, or at least he head that rests next to his decapitated body does. She tells herself that he's a dummy, even if he isn't, he's already dead, and the only way out  _please, let me out, I can't do this_  is a few quick shots, and it won't even hurt him. She surprises herself. Annie's fire only adds to the noise, and the orange tongues of flame that follows her bullets are at home in this nightmarescape. She's always been a good shot  _like all machines that are built for death_ and three spent cases litter the ground beneath her when the simulation disappears around her.

Her knees want to give out underneath her, and this time, Annie does not stop herself. The wall against her back is no longer warm – the heat must have been part of the simulation – and the world's so cold now. She's shivering, drawing in on herself.  _Johanna says that Frost bites away at fingers and toes, but why not feed the monster? No, be quiet, no, I can't, please, don't –_

"Congratulations, Annie." The woman's back  _or she hasn't left, has been right with you all along, wouldn't save you_ , and she's smiling widely  _wide enough to rip her face open, and as one half falls to the ground, her blood douses Annie in a baptism to hell_ down at her. "You did very well." She offers Annie a hand, which she accepts with only a half-second's hesitation.

Up on her feet, with the world returned as close to normal as it ever gets these days, Annie can lie to herself and say she's fine. The hand  _claws ready to slash at the delicate skin of her wrist_ that guides her out of the exam room is gentle, but her muscles stay tensed, ready.

"Annie!" Her breath picks up again as she readies herself for impact, but unlike all the others, these embraces are warm and comforting, not confining. "How did it go? Did you pass?" Finnick looks as ragged as she feels, bronze hair disheveled, deep, almost purple, bags under his eyes. But there's hope there too, and he beams when she nods. Then it's another hug, this one celebratory, rejoicing. "Me too. Ann, we passed! We'll be able to help, and…" His voice trails off, but she understands him all the same. They don't need words for this.

Realistically, Annie understands that they won't be real soldiers, but play-actors for the rebels in the same way that Katniss already is, but she nods. Help has to take many forms, after all. "Are you all right?" He'll lie that he's fine, then he'll ask her, and she'll lie that she's fine too. It's all in the pleasantries.

"I'm great. You?"

Or maybe she won't lie, and she'll nuzzle in against his chest in a way that looks a bit like a nod instead. The Thirteen officers don't try to move them. Best to let the two lovers be. They're Victors, and that's not the most stable species. She laughs in her throat at that, but the sound is muffled by Finnick's chest.

She knows that he never wants to break away, and she doesn't either, but it is for the best. Annie takes the first step back, but her hand finds his immediately. She smiles up at him, and maybe he can't see that it's forced, or maybe he can and isn't saying anything, and that's half of their relationship summed up in a sentence, but they love each other, so it's fine. No, beautiful. What they have is beautiful, and as she walks down the hallway with him, hands knotted together as they ignore the schedules that have been tattooed onto their arms in favor of the other's company, she can't imagine them any other way.

 


	2. Father Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But it's all for the cameras, and when they shut off, he'll be hers again. Now, though, they're for the cameras too, and when they shut off, she'll be like all the rest of them, and he'll be more broken than before.

_When Coin pulls on their marionette strings, she and Finnick dance for her. It's a dance they've been performing for years, as Snow asked for much the same, but in Thirteen, they dash towards the carrots dangling before them, not away from the whip._ This time, Plutarch  _the other mouth that Coin can speak from_ directs them to stand here, put their hands there, keep their eyes on this camera not that one, to look happy but not too much, there are people fighting and dying out there, and Annie does as he says. It's easiest not to fight the current  _or you'll be dragged under that much faster._

Finnick is better at this than she is. His voice always has the right amount of confidence in it, and though Plutarch tries to be kind with his orders, presenting them as suggestions that Annie and Finnick can both try out to see what happens, he always looks at her when he gives them. No longer is she to be the poor mad girl; Thirteen's Annie Cresta is strong, courageous, ready to do anything to lift the hold that President Snow has on Panem. She remembers an Annie like that as though she was just a dream from before the Games. But she vows that she will pretend to be that woman until the illusion becomes reality.  _If it was so easy, you would have done that long ago._

"Three, two, one,"  _the countdown always precedes the bloodbath_ "action!" She turns on her smile  _not too wide, or your face will split and there'll be blood everywhere_ and tightens her grip on Finnick's hand. At least he'll never let go.

This part is easy because she just has to look up at his face and seem like she's madly in love. "We owe so much to District Thirteen, to the revolution, but the fight is far from over." Conviction: Plutarch always says that Finnick's words come across with great conviction.  _He's good at pretending that Father Truth has bestowed his gift upon us when he has only lies to give._ Maybe everything he says is true today  _for the most beautiful lies are pearls, rot at the core but wrapped in layers of shine until you could never guess what it really is unless you cracked it open._ If it's beautiful enough, no one will want to see the lies for what they are. But then that's the purpose of a propo, isn't it?

_"I think I'm in love," he admits to the interviewer, just a bit of flush creeping up into his cheeks. The man presses to know more, for who would guess that Finnick Odair would fall? And it is falling, because if there's no one to catch you at the bottom, you break, shattering into a million pieces that never quite go back the way they're supposed to, and the glue you use to try to keep yourself together doesn't have the strength that original did. "I didn't think I would either, but." He shrugs, and it's so little that it's all too much. But it's all for show, for the entertainment of it all, and the picture they're showing is real but not real, because he has to act for the cameras, it's just for them. But now they're only here for the cameras, and she's right next to him, just like that woman was, and he's telling the camera how happy they are together._ "My life has been made much better by the generosity of District Thirteen, and I want the same freedoms to extend to every citizen of Panem."  _"I never knew I could be so happy." She smiles, and her hands, dyed pink for the season like bubblegum because everyone knows Finnick Odair loves sweet things, are over him, keeping him near. He always slips away, though, fading away like the tides only to return new and different another day. Elusive, nobody keeps his interest for long._ "We have to keep moving closer and closer to the Capitol."  _But it's all for the cameras, and when they shut off, he'll be hers again. Now, though, they're for the cameras too, and when they shut off, she'll be like all the rest of them, and he'll be more broken than before. He knows all her secrets, just as he knows all of theirs, and the line between lover and client isn't as clear as it's always seemed before, and…_

Once she realizes that her hand is curled around a fistful of his shirt, Annie forces herself to relax. True, she's never found a good way to stop her jaw from locking, but she can smile around it in a way that's almost convincing. The lights are too  _burning_ hot on her  _ready to leave you to bake_ but she will smile through hell  _and maybe this is_ for the rebellion. That, she does share with Thirteen's Annie.  _Maybe, when you melt away, she'll be all that's left._

The room's gone silent. That means it's her line. The snake-woman that lives inside her smiles. "But Thirteen cannot do this alone. All of us must join together in the final piece of resistance. Together, we must march on the Capitol." The body language in this part is supposed to be different, but she can't remember how right now, and it's difficult just to keep her hand on Finnick's and not allow them to clasp themselves over her ears to see if they'll all fade away if given time. Cressida smiles and moves a little closer to them. Thumbs up means she's doing fine, or at least better than she has all afternoon.  _She can't shut the camera off, because when she does, it'll all be over._ Stay still for just a moment longer, we'll add words above you in post-production, and it's over.

She can breathe now, and she snuggles in a little closer to Finnick. Plutarch says something that she doesn't care enough about to try to make out because she doesn't know how long she has left with him, but she's not going to waste a second of it on Plutarch Heavensbee.  _But the master can easily switch between the carrot and a lashing, and once the whip bites your skin, you listen._

"I think that we've got a lot of good footage here. With some editing, we can make it work." Messalla nods along with Cressida's words. If the two of them agree, that must mean that they're done. Strange how she and Finnick thought they had escaped the Capitol only to find that the still took orders from its citizens.

Finnick waits until the film crew has retreated up to Plutarch's control room  _Gamemakers Headquarters_ to turn towards her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. My mind just tried to run away with me for a second there."

"Good to hear." He hugs her. "Think they'll notice if we slip away for a while?" His voice is husky with promise, and she wants nothing more than to give in. It is their honeymoon, after all. What else is this time meant for?

She shakes her head. It's a sad day when the mad one has to be the responsible one as well. Annie softens the rejection with a kiss to his forehead. "I think they'd miss us."

"I'd miss me too, if I were them."

"So humble," she laughs. In moments like these, where it's just him, her, and the rest of the world can fade away, even if it's just for a second, are when she feels her most sane. Her mind isn't cruel enough to infringe on this.

Plutarch Heavensbee has no such qualms. "Good job, you two. Stick tight one second. I want to talk to you about a new opportunity."  _The Games are opportunities and opportunities are his Games. They're good fun until you're the one being moved around the chessboard._ Heavy steps on the stairs, and he comes to join them. "Messalla and Cressida think that'll turn out really well." She wonders if it hurts for him to smile like it does her. "But there's something else we'd really appreciate it if you'd do."  _And Snow appreciates it when we open our legs on command and let our souls get torn and twisted in every way they can be._ He waits for a reply, but when he realizes none is coming, he continues, "You're aware with Squad 451?"

"Katniss' group," Annie supplies. She feels like she's back in school again and is being walked through lecture by a teacher nowhere near as smart as he thinks himself, and all the more dangerous for it.

"Exactly. Our Star Squad, as I like to call them, has a mission to the Capitol coming up. It's nothing much – a few quick propo shoots, no danger, and we'd like you to come along for it." Only the most powerful can disguise their orders as requests.

Finnick meets her eyes, and she shakes her head. "I think we need a few minutes to talk this over," he says.

"Of course, sleep on it tonight. I don't need to know your decision until tomorrow. But keep in mind that President Coin asked for the two of you specifically. She thinks you'll be an invaluable asset to their mission." The smile he adds at the end is meant to be comforting, she's sure. Smiles that are designed for the sole purpose of manipulation generally are. "Get a good night's rest. I'll see you tomorrow." Annie doesn't like it when Plutarch claps Finnick on the arm. She doesn't want to know the names of everyone who bought him, but she also does not want to imagine where else those hands might have wandered.

She grabs Finnick's hand and nearly pulls him through the ant hive that is District Thirteen. Her heart always races as she fights against the current of bodies that hurry towards the dining rooms, all too eager to follow their tattooed schedules. Their apartment door opens with a wave of her hand, and it closes just as easily. "What do you think?" she asks.

"I'm not sure. Will you be okay?"

_Will I ever be okay?_ "I don't think we have any real choice. Coin's already decided that we're going."

"But if we said that we weren't sure you could handle it, maybe she –"

"The woman's not going to see reason, Finnick."

"I know." He sits down on their bed and runs his fingers through his hair, and he looks so defeated and used that her heart breaks. She can't ask him to go back there again.

Still, they have no real choice. Annie hates herself as she sits down next to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders. "Finn, I can't let Mags have died for nothing." It's low, but it's true, and that's what makes it hurt so much. He looks over at her, and she has to stop her voice from wavering. "She died for Katniss and Peeta. We can't let Katniss go into the Capitol, do something stupid like she always does, and get herself killed."  _She'd contorted with pain in those final seconds, and Annie had watched those moments of footage over and over again, trying to decipher Mags' last words, garbled more than usual by the nerve poison. But she'd failed again, just as she always did, and any last piece of wisdom died along with her._

He snorts, but his shoulders shake in a sob, and unshed tears shine in his eyes. "Yeah, that sounds like the Katniss I know. Yeah, you're right."

"We'll tell Plutarch tomorrow?"

It looks like it pains Finnick to nod his agreement.


	3. Sister Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a difference: in the Games, you know someone will come out alive.

Her ears haven't stopped ringing  _death bells because District Thirteen won't mourn_ since the explosion. His leg gone, only smoke, blood, and ashes  _ashes, we all fall down_ left behind. She wants to bring Boggs with them, for even in the Games they deliver the bodies home  _so the spirits don't wander, lost and alone, for alone with one's thoughts is the truest hell_ , but the Peacekeepers must believe the rest of them dead as well. From one body, they will extrapolate a dozen.

The Holo reveals no dangers here, but still she watches for any sign of movement, any trace of something amiss. She has not escaped one Arena and dodged another to fall in the third.  _There's a difference: in the Games, you know someone will come out alive._ There are nine levels of hell, she was once told. How much deeper can she go?

When she breathes, there is fire in her lungs, and she can feel water and blood pouring down her face and drenching her clothes beneath her armor. She has not been cut, but it is there all the same.  _Real or not real, does it really matter?_ Finnick must not know how close she is to drowning, to being swept away by the current, lest it drag him away with her. Every few minutes, he will try to meet her eye, smile, reach for her hand, anything that will reassure him that she is still there, and she lets him, says everything is fine  _for in the Capitol, lies are currency, and she always wanted to be the richest woman in the land._

Just keep moving. The further away she is from where  _the tile could just as easily have been hers, she was only steps away, and she's still not sure if the shrapnel that had grazed her face was bone or cement_ Boggs had… no, they'd lost their commander, the less she would think about it, the more she will be able to focus on the mission at hand. What the mission is, she can only suspect. For though Jackson may not be willing to argue with the Mockingjay for control of the squad, Annie does not doubt that Katniss has no orders from Coin. The woman  _snake lurking in the grass for prey_ has no more use for the Girl on Fire, but a suicide mission for her best film crew is far from in her best interests.  _Moves and countermoves, but one does not sacrifice every bishop, knight, and rook for the opponents' queen._   _Unless checkmate is near, for only the king must be left standing to win the game._

With Finnick's glances come messages.  _Soon. We'll leave the others. Three. Weapons. Target._ Remnants of Training she's kept with her for years, the winks, the nods, they all come together into ideas  _for if One or Two catches you, no matter how close, you'll be nearer gutted fish than Victor. And they do cut, one swipe for the head, and the eyes don't blink anymore, and even after they're shut, you can still feel them watching you._ Her messages back are of agreement. She, Finnick, and Katniss have more of a right to kill Snow than nearly anyone  _and those who deserve it more, he's wrecked so badly that they can't have the opportunity._ Vengeance drives her every step.

She has never seen this side of the Capitol before. This area, residential, clean but more utilitarian than homey, seems as though it could have come from one of the press releases on District Three or Eight. Before she realized that the truth in a Capitol pamphlet was but a single grain within a tesserae ration  _and Finnick says the tesserae themselves are lies as well; if the president desires your participation in his Games, Sister Chance will not dare stand in his way,_ Annie had dreamed of someday visiting such a place _._ The buildings have sides steeper than the cliffs that Four's Victors Village sits on, their sides dotted with windows through which she knows she could see families' lives laid bare  _but not as bare as us when we lay beneath them._ She longs to press her face up to the window, to see her breath cloud the glass as she watches, as she finally knows them the way they have known her and Finnick and everyone she loves for so long.

But dreams and longings are just pleasant diversions to be cast aside when one must return to hell. With the sun setting over the city  _and even the Capitol looks beautiful when painted in shades of orange and purple_ and hundreds of Peacekeepers patrolling the streets, all on high alert, they could not stay outside much longer. Like shadows, the slip soundlessly into one of the buildings, and they're climbing, ascending further and further until her legs and lungs burn  _and the higher you climb, the further there is to fall_ but she can't right now because Katniss and Finnick are relying on her, and Annie refuses to be the one who turns a mission from a success into a failure. So it is up higher and higher until Katniss decides they have had enough, and then it's off towards an apartment. Two knocks, then three shots replace  _may we come in._

She tenses, her back so stiff Annie worries it will crack in two. The woman's eyes go wide, and she stares at the holes and red where her pink day dress  _because bulletproof isn't in style this season_ has failed her for seconds that stretch for years before she collapses. Annie does not feel the scream coming, but there it is  _not me, not Finnick, not me, I need out, please no,_ and Finnick's hand is over her mouth  _pretty lips like those are meant for kissing and sucking, not screaming, sweetheart. Anything you say won't change what happens. Why not lay back and enjoy?,_ but that can't be him, because he would never force her that way. He couldn't.  _Please._

"Annie, Annie are you okay?" They're inside the house, she's on the dead woman's couch  _please be dead and not still hurting because I'm hurting enough for both of us_ and his hand is in her hair, pressing her face to his chest, and if she screams this time, it'll be muffled by his armor. She doesn't want to scream,  _but you didn't the first time either_ , and she wraps her arms around him and tries to pretend the world doesn't exist. His heart's beating rapid-fire, and she's certain that if she looks up, his pupils will be so dilated that they've swallowed his irises whole,  _and black holes are meant for gobbling everything around them in and never letting them escape. You can't allow yourself to be pulled in_ so she doesn't dare move. Only when the rigidity has faded, then the shaking lessens, and she can smell the delicious canned stew that Finnick sometimes brought back from his visits does she venture to lift her head.

She wishes she hadn't. Everywhere, the dead woman smiles back at her. Mags would have called it vanity, to have so many pictures of oneself, but nearly every photo has other people in it as well, often two dark-haired individuals whose growth from infants to men she can track from photo to photo. A mother. She could be a mother someday soon. The Capitol would never have allowed it, but District Thirteen did need babies, and before the wedding, Annie is certain they did everything they could to ensure the future of Thirteen's population.  _That could have been you. Katniss could have killed you. She wouldn't have thought twice about it, would she?_ She knows better than to argue that she is different, that Katniss would have to care. There's no use in debating against the truth.

Weary, weary to the bones is how the rest of the group feels, and Annie has to agree. Gale agrees to take first watch, and they settle in for what she is certain is going to be a very long night.

* * *

Her watch is fourth. Annie waits only long enough to be sure that Leeg  _no need for one or two now_ is asleep before she rouses Finnick. "We need to go," she mouths, knowing the room is just light enough to be able to make out her lips' movements. Even if it wasn't, he knows her well enough to guess the message.

Finnick has always been quick to wake up. "I'll get Katniss." He rolls up, almost feline in his movements, and starts over to where Katniss lays, fast asleep like the rest of them.

She has her own duty. On tiptoe, careful to not so much as allow a floorboard to creak beneath her, she creeps over to where Gale sleeps. It takes long seconds to loosen his fingers from his crossbow  _though then it could be done quick. One shot, maybe two, is all it takes_ because most of her doesn't want that kind of surprise. Once it's safely out of reach, she covers his mouth.

Gale wakes with a start, but she pushes him back towards the floor. "Stay quiet," she whispers, "and don't argue with me. Katniss, Finnick, and I are leaving soon. You can't come with us. Even three might be too many to go undetected."

After a moment, his grey eyes  _a sea after the storm. Or perhaps during, for you never know when you're merely in the eye of the hurricane_ calm, and he nods. "You need me to keep guard?"

"And I thought you might want to say goodbye to Katniss."  _Goodbye sounds so sweet that it makes what is to come almost impossible to swallow._

 


	4. Brother Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those instincts of yours are so good at keeping you alive. Bit of a pity, isn't it?

"If we get far enough into the city center, it'll be almost impossible for them to catch us. The people who live there, the really wealthy ones, won't put up with the same security measures that Snow will have put in place through the rest of the city." She hates that Finnick sounds so certain about this, but she has to agree. The Capitol elite are used to a life of privilege beyond what she could even imagine  _and she does not want to imagine, for her mind will only take her to the darkest of places_ , and though they have the most to lose, they would also be the least willing to accept any inconvenience that came with added security.  _Funny how these things work, isn't it?_

 _Don't count it as too much of a blessing. A soft inside is often guarded by the strongest of shells._ But with every step, they're moving closer to their goal. She can't allow herself to forget that. Annie adjusted the straps of her shoulder pack and studied the city. Dawn was just beginning to creep over the horizon, and with day, hopefully, would come some degree of safety. She and Katniss had taken a few pieces of clothing from the apartment  _dead woman's clothing, every choice you make brings you closer to her,_ so once the streets become crowded, they should blend in. Finnick had been more difficult. This woman, Annie would guess, had lived alone, with only a few pictures here and there  _the baby with the sweet red curls who had grown into a man who beamed bright when his mother hugged him. He must miss her terribly, but Annie could think only of that child, how those big green eyes so easily could belong to her and Finn's baby someday, how someone could rip them away just as Katniss had that woman,_ to suggest that she had ever had a family. Annie hadn't seen anything that would fit Finnick's broad-shouldered frame. They would have to find him clothes later on.

With Finnick at the front of their informal unit and Katniss sheltered between the two of them, constantly checking the Holo, Annie is tasked with watching for any threat from the rear. Over and over again, she glances over her shoulder, certain that something is sneaking up behind them  _and the evil here has no need for stealth. Nothing can keep you safe here, Annie Cresta._ But yet it chooses to hide, in pods that seem no more than dots, as inconspicuous as any of the thousands of other decorations the Capitolites toss over their city, not even worth noticing until an explosion has stolen your leg or your arm is swelling from a hundred tracker jacker stings.  _And your neck is cracking with the pressure, so much you almost want it to kill you just so it'll end, and there's a woman standing before you who's screaming because no, it isn't supposed to happen, but her cries are never enough to make it stop, and your body is there but your head is here and –_

She pulls her hands away from her ears. No, there's no time for that now  _mad, mad, mad, mad._ Another check over the shoulder. Nothing but shops and apartments, at least not that she can see, but that could mean anything. She's worried that they haven't seen any Peacekeepers yet. It cannot be oversight; Snow is too smart for that. No, he must think that his fortress is impenetrable even without its guards, and that thought is the most unsettling of all. For if the last forty years prove anything, it is that Snow rarely makes a miscalculation when it comes to maintaining his power.  _Fools may rise, but they quickly fall, for though they see Brother Pride as their greatest ally, he quickly turns against them._

At first, she thinks Finnick's scream nothing more than one of her never-ending waking nightmares, but then the pain descends, burning a path down her leg. She screams and she runs, and Annie is certain it is instinct rather than conscious thought that leads her to pull the huddled mass she almost stumbles over along with her.  _Pain, an old friend, concerned he had not seen you in so long._ It tears along her leg, and she can hardly keep moving, but a piece of her knows that if she stops, it can only become worse.  _Those instincts of yours are so good at keeping you alive. Bit of a pity, isn't it?_

 _Don't give into it. Don't listen. Keep moving._ Finnick's trying to keep up with her, but even with her pulling him along, he's dragging. No, they can't stop, not now, when they're so close. "Annie! Annie, over here."

She struggles to find Katniss. Annie no longer feels like she is entirely contained within herself; rather, the world seems hazy, as if she floats through a dream  _nightmare,_ because the sights and sounds that surround her aren't quite real. "Annie!" Katniss is there, waving her towards a door, and perhaps she is a beacon  _the Girl on Fire, your lighthouse to keep you safe from the rocks._ She can hardly refuse even the possibility for safety, so she pulls Finnick along, out of  _there_ and into  _here, but the trouble with stepping over any threshold is you can't know if it's better or worse than what came before._

It's the cave, Katniss and Peeta's, from the Arena. She can remember watching them fall in love  _it's all fake, none of it's real, she wouldn't have left Peeta behind otherwise_ and hoping that now that Four couldn't win, perhaps these two could. But their cave had been bare, and this room is too square, too clean, too perfect to be natural. The smell of cleaner hangs around them, and Katniss motions her further and further back, but it's her cave, so she must know best, and Annie follows, Finnick just able to stumble along with her support. He collapses not even halfway down the tunnel – no, aisle, she should know better. She can't lose sight of what's real.  _My name is Annie Cresta. I'm a Victor from District Four. I don't know where I am, or what's real, or…_

Finnick's groan cuts her away from her thoughts. Her marionette strings snipped, Annie finally sees what's in front of her.

Immediately, she wishes she was back in the dream. Blood runs down his arm, so thick it's more purple-black than red, and already, a puddle is forming on the tile floor. Worse is his face, whiter than she's ever seen it and contorted in pain.  _Therein lies the difference between fantasy and reality: reality always hurts more._ Shock, he's going into shock. And in the Arena – she won't stop calling this place that – shock is a death sentence. She sits next to him. "Finn? Finnick, stay with me." She cups his face in her hands, and his skin is cool to the touch. "I need you to keep your eyes on me, Finn. I love you so, so much, and I can't let you leave right now." He's trying, she can tell, but it's not good enough. "Katniss, I need bandages or cloth. Anything to slow down the bleeding." A shudder passes through him. "Something I can use as a blanket too," she adds.

"Got the bandages." Katniss passes her a large packet of gauze and begins unwinding a bandage from a roll.

"I'm going to move now, Finn. You need to stay with me here." Annie reaches for his arm. "I'm going to have to take off your clothes now, but I'm only trying to help, okay? Nobody but me is going to touch you." She hopes she can keep that promise, but as she peels away the cloth around his wound, Annie realizes this is far too much for her to handle. Around the wound, at least four inches long and an inch wide at its largest point, thread, blood, skin, and tissue all melt together into a horrifying mixture, and she can't tell where one ends and the next begins.

Katniss nudges her hand away and covers the wound with the gauze. "Keep talking to him. When I've got this wrapped, I'll see what else I can find for him. They've got to have something to sanitize it in this place."

 _You can't save him. You can't do anything. You're worthless, always have been. It can't be hard – Katniss is no healer, but you, you're worse than her. Worse than filth. The earth regrets the day your blight entered it, and it will relish the day when –_ "Come on, Finn, you've got to stay with us. Katniss is putting on your bandage right now. It's just Katniss and me here with you." He needs to be kept warm, and she has nothing to give him but herself. Annie presses close against him, her cheek against his, hoping her body heat is enough to make a difference.

"Done. I'm going to see if I can't find something to sanitize it, some pain meds, anything for him."

Annie's too scared to look away from Finnick to see where Katniss is going. She'll just have to trust that the other woman will come back.  _People can't let you down until you trust them._ "Finnick, please stay with me. I love you too much to let you go."  _Let? You don't have any power. You can't stop anything._ For the first time since they found sanctuary here, she can feel the pain in her leg, and though it's suddenly excruciating, she does not move away from her husband. He smells wrong, like sweat and fire and hurt, but she can't even begin to think about what will happen if she has to leave him behind.

Finnick grabs her shirt. "I-I'm all right."

She blinks away a few tears, still not moving away from him. "You're a terrible liar." Annie shakes her head.

"It hurts, but I'll be okay." His voice is just more than a whisper, and even that is an obvious strain.

Annie's chest shakes with laughter and sobs  _because now, they're one and the same._ "I think you're right on that one."

"Yeah."

"Don't give me another scare like that." She kisses his cheek, and no, it doesn't taste the way he's supposed to, but she's sure she doesn't either. "Katniss and I will fix you up."

The distance she sees in his eyes now seems to be as much from exhaustion as pain. "You two are good at that."

"Katniss is getting you some medicine." Annie glances in the direction Katniss left, really seeing the shop they've made their base for the first time. In this aisle, rows upon rows of bandages and gauze line the shelves. A drugstore. She can't thank Katniss enough. "She and I are going to take good care of you."

At that moment, Katniss arrives with a syringe in hand. "Morphling. I think we can probably hold out here for a little while, and he needs all the rest he can get." She unsheathes the needle, and though Finnick does his best to hide it, Annie can feel his muscles tense.

 _With their needles and their pills, they can make you feel anything. And then, later, when the feelings are all gone, you get to have your real emotions again, and it's always worse._ "Can I do it?" Maybe, just maybe, that extra bit of familiarity, knowing it's her wielding the needle, will help him get through this.

Her hands quiver as she lines up the syringe with a vein, but once the tip of the needle pierces the skin, she is able to administer the shot quickly and efficiently. Annie never wants to do it again. When she's finished, she kisses his forehead before rearranging him into a comfortable sleeping position. He's out within minutes.

Only when Finnick's breathing settles into a soft, steady rhythm does she allow herself to take stock of her own condition. The burning in her leg – oh, now that she looks at it, it's a cut, shorter and far less deep than Finnick's, but she should get that bandaged up before it causes any real damage - has now subsided into a constant throbbing, but that's the closest thing to a major injury she feels. Otherwise, it's just soreness and a few small scrapes. Good, they can't have two soldiers out of commission. "What do you want to do?" Katniss asks, and for once, it doesn't seem like she has an answer in mind. Instead, Katniss sounds the way Annie feels: small and scared, a little girl who wants nothing more than to finish up and go home.  _But there isn't a home to go back to, not anymore. Not for you either, now that they've shot Dad and Georgia._

"Set up here and hope for the best, I suppose. I'm not sure what else there is to do." It's a sad day when she's the one who has to make the calm, rational decisions.

"Think they're looking for us?"

"Maybe no us specifically, but probably people like us, yes."

Katniss nods. "How long do you guess we have until they check this place?"

"I'm not sure, but we should be gone soon. Let's see how long that dose knocks Finnick out for, and if we're worried, I bet the two of us can move him together." She will die bringing him with her, for if there is one thing Annie Cresta absolutely refuses to do, it is to leave her husband alone in the Capitol to die. She can picture it now, her headstone among those of the other Victors in Four,  _Annie Cresta: Poor, Mad Girl_ inscribed on the stone for posterity.

_Silly girl. Once they're done with you, there won't be anything left to bury._


	5. Grandmother Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an imperfect melody, unbalanced, but then again, so is she.

Diet and weight loss. Pain. Fever. Allergies. So many ailments one can fix _or at least pretend to, because when the drugs the doctors give you wear off, you’re back where you started with withdrawal on top_ with a handful of pills. _Life’s a pain you can end with a handful as well, and it’s so easy to go cold turkey._ Some of them look like they might help Finnick _please take away his hurt, I hate to see him suffering,_ but she’s afraid to give him anything more. She’s surprised the potion of medications they’ve already stuffed into him hasn’t caused any harm. _None that you can see, but the wounds under the surface are the most dangerous._

Annie glances back towards where Finnick and Katniss sleep. Even asleep, there’s a tenseness to Finnick’s features, his jaw shut so tightly that she half-wonders if his teeth will crack under the strain, and it’s all too easy to imagine him crying out in pain. And there’s nothing she can do. _You’re going to watch him crumble into dust, and you’re not going to do anything to stop it._ “Be quiet!” she yells, only thinking to muffle her voice with her hand halfway through.

 

She does not allow herself to breathe, wishes her heart would stop so even that sound could disappear. Instead, heartbeats stretch into eons as she waits for glass castle of the Capitol to come crashing down in millions of cutting shards around her. Outside, the world is silent, but in her head, a hurricane rages. _He’s going to die, he’s going to die. And you’ll be all alone, and that’s all you care about. Not him, not anyone else. Just Annie, and there’ll be no one left to love you. He’s going to die. He’s already dead. Happily ever after only exists in fairy tales. He’s going to die. Blood, blood, dead, blood…_

Breathe. Four heartbeats in, four heartbeats out. Do it again. Her pulse still pounds through every artery in her body, but she can’t give in. _This is the eye of the storm, and any second, you’ll slip back in._ Finnick and Katniss need her to keep watch.

 

“The walk was supposed to keep your muscles going, not your mind.” She wonders if her forced giggles sound crazier than her thoughts. “There’s no reason to be too quiet, is there?”

 

Finnick and Katniss are still breathing. Check. The doors and windows are all shut, and she can see no sign of movement outside. Check. _The bodies in the corner are still dead. You haven’t checked yet._ She doesn’t want to. They are supposed to be alive, and they would be if Katniss had chosen any other store, if they had been sick today, if they had been a hundred or so meters further away when they triggered the pod, if Annie had been a worse shot. _And none of it matters, because the same could be said about everyone else who’s died in this war._

She should be able to stomach what she’s done, to mentally fill out the casualty forms they practiced in Thirteen that give the reason for death and file it away forever. That’s what makes a good soldier. _But we all knew Annie Cresta would never make a good soldier, for her mind can drown in a drop of worry._ Stay afloat, whatever it takes. The three – two women and a man, she can picture them now, the cotton candy-haired woman at the cash register, the man stocking the shelves, the younger woman waiting at the pharmacy, their torsos and faces all dotted with 35 millimeter holes _that you put there because you’re a monster._ She doesn’t want to be; she wishes they were still alive. _But everyone you want to keep alive dies. You sign their death certificates the instant you start caring._

Annie covered the bodies over an hour ago _they’ll smother under there_ because she hated their eyes, following her everywhere, accusing. She can still feel them, their gaze crawling like spiders all over her. _People are trees, with roots of friends and family spreading out all around them. The deeper you go, the more you realize you’ve killed more than an individual._

Earlier, she hadn’t wanted to stay with Finnick, for her best attempts to soothe him did nothing. Now, all she wants is closeness. _You don’t have much time left. He’s dying. He’s dead. Dying blood Finnick gone alone…_

Careful to avoid his injured arm, she moves to sit curled against him, his shoulder against her cheek. He feels cold, colder than she ever remembers him being, but she tells herself it’s just the heavy cloth keeping him insulated. In any case, she can see his chest moving, _and this isn’t what Katniss meant by keep watch and we’re all going to die because of you,_ so he must still be alive _are any of you really still living?_

Finnick shifts against her. She looks up to see him, eyes open but dazed. “Finnick?” she asks.

 

It takes him a moment to find the source of the voice. When he does, he smiles, but even that small motion seems to hurt. “Are you all right?”

 

“Yeah.” He tests moving his fingers and toes before continuing with his legs, arms, and neck. Good, at least he’s aware enough to remember back to Training. _He’s woken up with vials of drugs pumping through his system dozens or hundreds of times. Mags and Four and Training have nothing to do with it._ If she didn’t know him so well, she would have thought only the cut arm hurt, but Annie knows every twitch in his features. He grins, lopsided and roguishly handsome, a grin that she’s seen on more magazine covers than she dares count. _Snake’s eyes, snake’s smile, cloying eat the apple._

“Sure about that one?”

 

“Never felt better.” She grimaces as he pushes himself up, grabbing a shelf when his knees wobble beneath him. “You’ve got me so full of painkillers that I can’t feel a thing.” _We took vows of honesty not more than a month ago._ “I mean, I feel like I’m kind of about here right now –“ he wiggles a hand a few inches away from his ear – “but physically, I’m pretty good.”

 

 _He’ll break, shatter into a thousand shards like a porcelain doll, and not even Grandmother Patience will be able to put him back together again._ “Good to hear.” She stands up as well, ignoring the pain the many small cuts and scratches on her legs and torso cause as she moves.

 

Finnick hardly waits for her to get her balance before he pulls her up against him. Annie can’t help but notice that he’s putting more weight on her than he usually would. He kisses the top of her head. “You took good care of me,” he murmurs.

 

“It was more Katniss than me.” _If she hadn’t been there, you would be rotting in the street, the seagulls ready to pick out your eyes like shiny coins on the sidewalk._

“You’re being modest. I didn’t wake up with Katniss cuddling me.”

 

“I would hope not.”

 

“How are you holding up?” He pushes a strand of hair behind her ear _so much gentler than you deserve. Someday, they’ll realize it. Someday, whoever runs this sick game will learn what a mistake they’ve made and steal him away from you and leave you alone with the demons,_ and she leans into his touch.

 

“I’m still in one piece.” _Can’t crack, because then it’ll be two, then four, then eight, and it never stops growing._ Another kiss, and she can no longer pretend that they’re anywhere but the middle of a war zone. “We need to find you some clothes so you’ll blend in a bit better.”

 

“Are we heading out?”

 

“If you feel like you’re ready. We haven’t had any customers yet, but I don’t think that’s going to last much longer. I’m betting eight is about when people start moving around here, and I don’t want to run into any more unpleasant surprises.” _In the Capitol, there is no other type._

Finnick nods. “I’ll wake up Katniss.”

 

“And I’ll find you something to wear.” She hates the thought, can’t bear to think of that cloth touching his skin, but is there really any other choice? Her eyes were a measuring tape as she had covered him earlier, and she knows his only wounds were on his face, arms, and the lower portion of his abdomen. If Finnick pulls up the waist of the pants high enough, only a bit of blood will give him away, and even then, they can explain it with Finnick’s injured arm. _Death is contagious. You’ve been spreading it for years._ Her hands shake as she undresses the body. _They stole your clothes and your dignity, and now you take theirs. Circles and cycles and maybe he had a wife who watches him button his work shirts from the bottom up rather than top down and shouldn’t she be the one doing this for the last time._ Only a few stains here and there; they should be easy to hide. “Finn, I’ve got a shirt for you.” _Stealing from the dead now. Wonder if you’ll have anything left worth wanting._

* * *

The pack bumps against a sore spot on her back every time she takes a step, but it’s loaded with all the medicine, food, and other supplies she can carry, so Annie doesn’t dare take out anything. Now, Katniss leads, and she and Finnick follow behind, him watching for any sign of trouble, and she watching him. He thinks he’s hiding his pain well _and so are you. Two liars deserve one another._ She can’t blame him. There is a goal _has there ever been another?_ and until it is completed, anything else is merely a distraction. She’ll give him another dose of the pain medicine when they stop, and they’ll be fine for a little longer.

 

They see a few Capitolites here and there, but none make eye contact. Everyone hurries through the streets, shoulders hunched, doing their best not to notice the people around them. From the posters they’ve seen, the ones emblazoned with their faces and warnings like _dangerous criminals_ and _do not confront,_ Annie can guess that Snow has finally warned the population of the threat they face.

 

Around her, the buildings grow taller and more ornate. Some seem familiar, but she can’t place any of them in her past. _Or perhaps you just don’t want to. Some memories are best lost to time._ Shell-like turrets, fountains tucked into every niche, doors taller than three men, walls of stained glass windows that reflect so perfectly that the sky almost sings. _Only such a beautiful place could hold such evil._ It’s so seductive that she can feel herself being pulled in. Two steps of watching Finnick, three of admiring her surroundings. It’s an imperfect rhythm, unbalanced, but then again, so is she.

 

One misstep, one piece a millimeter out of place, and the house of cards comes tumbling down. She should know better. The buildings grow more beautiful with every block, and the streets become more and more crowded. Those who live in the city center have never experienced real fear, and their most animal instincts for survival have been grinded away through years of manicures that make claws only for decoration. He walks with his face down, like so many of the others, and it is no wonder that she did not see him, for in a jungle of rainbows, he wears the perfect camouflage. At first, it is like so many chance encounters. Their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds, and she thinks nothing of it, for accidentally bumping shoulders with another happens countless times a day to so many people all over Panem that it’s hardly worth thinking about, but then his eyes widen, and the smallest of ripples can cause the most destructive waves.

 

In the street, she can do nothing but tug on Finnick’s sleeve and gesture to him to move faster. Ten steps later, they’re at a full sprint, and Katniss follows close behind. Through streets, into buildings, anywhere to avoid the Peacekeepers that must be coming for them. As long as they don’t stop, they’ll be safe.

 

_It’s a beautiful lie because you still want to believe it’s true._


	6. Grandfather Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn’t it a pity to wake from a bad dream to discover the nightmare’s only just begun?

Every muscle screams for oxygen, but Annie can hardly breathe. Her feet beg her to stop as they pound against the pavement, and her knees threaten to buckle underneath her with every step. She is certain it is only a matter of time before she stumbles, and then everything will be lost. Annie can accept death for herself, has admitted to herself its imminent certainty and the hope it provides dozens of times while in the Arena and during her time in the Capitol, but the image of Finnick stopping to try to help her up is enough to keep her going.

 

Annie does not want to know how Finnick navigates their long, winding path, which she could swear doubles up upon itself again and again like a serpent devouring its own tail. Still, every corridor, every streetlight, is unfamiliar, and it is all too easy to imagine the months and years of pain _hands that grab and take, lips that whisper sweetly at dinner but afterwards peel back to reveal the sharpest of teeth_ that allowed him to learn this part of the city so well. _They’ll do it again. They’ll strap you down and tear off your clothes and splinter your mind, and…_

_Katnissss._ It’s not real. _You’ll scream because it hurts, and then they’ll laugh until they hurt, and you’ll laugh because that’s how we play the game._ Finnick looks back, his eyes wider and greener than she’s ever seen them, and at first she assumes she’s given in and laughed along with her mind _because the joke isn’t funny until your friend chuckles along with you,_ but when Annie hears the hiss again, and Finnick reaches back to pull her forward another step, she relearns for the tenth or hundredth time that monsters do not only exist in children’s stories.

 

_Isn’t it a pity to wake up from a bad dream to discover the nightmare’s only just begun?_

Her body powers forward, hurtling through the streets faster than she knew she could run. With Katniss by her side and Finnick a half-step behind them, it feels almost like a footrace _and you’ve always liked to win, driven girl that you are. Did you want to kill the others, or did you just want another chance to show that you could beat them?_  No, she can’t do this right now. _Keep your mind from running away with you, Annie. You’ll only lose your head in the Arena with that._ And look, Seannan had kept his mind in check and lost his head, and she’d lost her mind and kept her head. It’s all a joke when she really thinks about it.

 

“Know what that is?” Katniss pants, her face drenched in sweat.

 

She does not slow enough to shake her head, and in her state, a vocal reply is impossible to conjure. Already, her legs and chest are past burning. _You’ll eat yourself from the inside out. Dissolve away Annie to move your body and collapse, hollow, a shell that the hermit crabs can make their homes in, and it’ll hurt, burn, roasting you in a furnace of your own creation._ It’s a monster; that’s all she needs to know. Finnicksays nothing either. For now, all that exists for them is the demon that chases them and the slim possibility of hope ahead.

 

No matter how fast they run, the sounds only grow louder. _Katnissss, Katnissss, Katnissss._ Sometimes, the words overlap, and Annie tries not to think of how many there could be, stalking them through the Capitol. The streets, busy with traffic only a few minutes ago, are now eerily empty. Cars sit, abandoned, in the middle of the street, their doors left open as their owners scrambled to safety. Neon open signs still greet patrons, luring them in towards all the exotic pleasures the Capitol has to offer, but the storefronts themselves are dark, doors shut, curtains drawn. Over all of it, a pleasant but authoritative female voice emanates seemingly from all around them. “For your own safety, find shelter immediately. Dangerous criminals with a record of murdering civilians are known to be in the area. Report any unusual strangers or suspicious activity. Do not attempt to confront these individuals, as they are known to be armed and dangerous. For your own safety…”

 

With the next turn, when she sees something out of the corner of her eye, Annie realizes how hopeless their situation has become. Her stomach drops at the pale, translucent skin, and she wishes she has imagined the greyish pink of organs underneath. But no matter what she wishes, in the red-brown corners of her vision, which has narrowed to almost nothingness, all she can see are those jaws, open wide enough that she half-expects the rest of the head to peel  away from the rest of the body, leaving just a gaping hole ready to swallow her entire world. _There’s no use in running; eventually, the tidal wave will catch you, and you won’t have any energy left to swim._

_Blood everywhere, bubbling up from the street until every step sends it splashing up towards her eyes. It burns there, a terrible mixture of acid and salt, and she can feel it seeping under her skin. She longs to scratch at it, tear up her skin so it can’t possibly stay inside her, but then she’ll bleed everywhere, and the water level will rise, and the monsters will swim towards her…_

Finnick tugs on the back of her shirt, pulling her into an alleyway. “You ready to fight?” he asks.

 

She nods, but all she can think of is the dark stain around his shoulder, wet and fresh. “Are you?” Her voice sounds timid, small, afraid, and this is not a time for weakness. She hears a sound behind her, and Annie watches as the mutts skitter past the alley, still following the larger road. This second look at them reveals them to be even more nightmarish. While the one she had seen earlier had walked upright, the majority of them race by on four legs, balancing on the tips of long, too-slender fingers.

 

“How long until they find us again?” The voice, quiet though it is, spooks Annie, and she whirls around, raising her gun, to see Katniss melting out from the shadow of a dumpster. _If she’d come out a half-second later, you would have shot her. Her blood would be all over the pavement, her eyes empty, the revolution dead, and it would be all your fault. You aren’t worthy of being here. They’re talking now, and you should be listening, trying to not be a drain on the rest of your team, but you won’t. It’s because you’re worthless. You aren’t worth the air you breathe or the space you take up. Every bite you’ve ever eaten could have gone to someone better, someone who deserves it more than you. Any of those twenty-three other children could have walked out of the Arena strong and whole, but you –_

“I love you. You know that?” Finnick’s hand finds hers, and their fingers intertwine. When she thinks about it, it’s not much at all, but though he can’t reel her in, he makes sure her mind doesn’t wander too far from shore, just as she does for him.

 

She nuzzles against his shoulder for a second, allowing her to drift away from the moment, to picture the two of them back home in Four for just an instant _the last time_ before reality beckons. Annie retrieves her rifle from the inside of her coat and shuts off the safety. She doesn’t need the plan explained to her. They’ll wait for the attack, for though they see no trace of the creatures now, it will not be long before they reappear, and hope they can get through them. _Though the Capitol seems endless, there is nowhere to run._

“I’ll watch the other side. You two take this one.” After this is done, she needs to thank Katniss again. Without her, Annie is certain both she and Finnick would have been lost long ago, stooped in some corner _as Finnick bled out and she sat_ , _unable, unwilling to do –_

Stop. “I love you too,” she whispers back to him, and she lowers her gun for a moment to lay a gentle hand on his jaw. Finnick leans into her touch, kissing the palm of her hand, but the world sharpens into focus when she catches a hint of movement out of the corner of her eye. “Something’s coming.”

 

Perhaps this is what makes a Victor: _having a mind that the seagulls can snatch away like a gold wristwatch and knowing that nightmares are sweeter than reality,_ being able to snap from sentimental to high alert in a heartbeat. Both of them have their weapons raised before the first monster comes fully into view.

 

Her first shot misses, as the bullet dings against a trash can before harmlessly burying itself in the brick wall. Even in her first days of Training, she never missed twice in a row. _But you’re a puppet now as you never were before, and Coin holds the trigger as much as you. Does she want any of you to walk out of this alive?_ The second shot hits just below the knee, and though there is blood and a hiss of pain _Katnissss,_ it does not collapse as a human would. She continues to hold the trigger down, more because she doesn’t think to move her finger back than out of any conscious thought. At quarter-second intervals, the gun fires, and Annie sees the bullets punch through the creature’s hide-like skin, watches as a spray of lost scales and blood billows out from the wound, but the lizard-man hardly slows. _If Grandfather Death wants you, there’s nothing you can do to stop him. He always was a nasty bastard who had to have his prize, but his voice could sound so sweet…_

She moves closer to Finnick as she continues to shoot. _Stay close to your allies. Guard each other’s backs._ He hasn’t struck the monster with his trident yet, but it’s getting closer _and are the roses I smell real or not,_ and she knows he’ll be within range in just a few seconds. _Don’t think, act. If you play your cards right, for these are Games, whatever the others may say, you’ll have the rest of your life to think. Really, I suppose you’ll have the rest of your life to think either way, but in one case, it’ll be much shorter._

Her entire body goes taut, like a bow string pulled to the point of snapping, when she hears the unmistakable sound of a trident _spear_ flying _towards your chest; this is the part where your ally betrays you_ through the air. _It’s nothing personal. There can only be one winner._ Just keep shooting, and maybe it will be all right.

 

There’s a scream. _Is it me? If I scream, they’ll find out where I am, and they’ll track me down and find me. They'll have to sew my head back onto my body to look beautiful at the funeral._ From the blood that spatters on her face, it must be an ugly wound. _Nobody likes an ugly corpse._ It doesn’t taste like human blood. It’s too cold, and there’s a bit of an aftertaste to it, like breathing perfume _expensive, of course, the Capitol spares no expense on its Victors.They’ll drown us in diamonds and paint us in gold so they can lick it off later._ Even once the monster drops, it still pulls itself forward. She continues to fire, edging backwards now, scared to lose her footing, and _the black hole happily devours everything. The bullets, Finnick, your happiness, it only belongs to you until it decides otherwise. You can’t stop fate, Annie Cresta._

Another voice. She knows this one’s not hers, because its words almost make sense. _And perhaps they would be clearer if you were saner._ But there can’t be more, because they already seem endless, and if they’re coming at them from both directions, how does the fairy story find its happily ever after? The Capitol has said itself that Katniss and Peeta are a storybook romance for the ages. _And what do they say about you? Does the dragon believe it’s the monster that must be slayed?_

Katniss needs to stay with them. They’re safer in numbers. _You’re not safe, you’re never going to be safe again._ Finnick cuts another one down, but like the hydra, where one falls, three more come to replace it. And every time he calls his trident back towards him, Annie hears a hiss of pain _or that of the snake, ready to strike down its prey._ When he tries throwing with his other arm, he misses, and the lizard-creature, just sentient enough _to suffer when you hurt it_ to realize the value of the weapon, grabs at it, but Finnick manages to call it back before it _he_ can get a good grip.

 

 _Boom._ The world shakes, falling in towards her. Her bullets have felled four _your final kill count was seven. Tell me, Annie, how does it feel to know you came out of Games with just short of a record number of kills?_ creatures _tributes_ , but they still keep coming. And now she’s falling back, and they’re falling forward, and this has to be it. She can see them closing in on her throat, and no matter how quickly she moves, they’re going to be faster. Annie wonders if this is how it felt for the others. She catches herself before she lands, but it’s not enough, for the claws are only inches away from her neck, and though she bats one away with the butt of her gun, there’s another right behind, and another behind it.

 

“Annie!” It’s the last sound she’ll ever hear, and she’s glad she can hear the love in his voice. She should respond, but there aren’t words that say enough. Finnick’s trident impales one, and it is sent careening backwards into the next. He’s bought her another fifteen seconds. She fires again and again into the mass of _thing_ that’s coming towards them, and there’s another _boom,_ and this time, she’s half-prepared, but she cannot stop herself from glancing backwards. Fire everywhere, and she’s certain it’ll be here soon enough.

 

When she looks back, it is to find Finnick wrestling for control of the trident with two of the monsters. One of their hands is over his, and already, there are deep, long gashes for each of its three claws, but Finnick has not yet given in. She does not feel the claws ripping against her hip as she rushes towards him _because you protect your district partner until they’re more danger than their worth and Finnick is priceless_ but though she manages to knock one of them back, the trident is but one possible means to an end. A third has come, and Finnick _Seannan_ can’t fight it _him_ off, and the neck is one of the most vulnerable areas of the human body _most sensitive area of your lover, and Finnick’s is beautiful. Everyone wants a piece of him. What makes you think he’ll fancy you over the others who have so much more to offer?_

“Finnick!” _There was one, and now there are two. He won’t be as valuable now. Supply and demand is all it is._ That scream, she knows that scream. It’s the one of that mad girl, the one who never should have made it home. And they’re going to remedy that mistake, or maybe not, because perhaps death is home now, and she sees no reason to stop them. Their claws, their teeth sharp as razor blades, they all seem so welcoming now, and how could she have been so foolish to not see it before? And so while the mad girl struggles to stay afloat, Annie Cresta closes her eyes and drops her weapon, ready for everything to stop hurting _because you always wake up before you hit the bottom, and until then, it’s flying, not falling, and you’ve always wanted to soar._

 

“Annie, drop!” It’s what she’s always wanted, what she’s been inching ever closer towards since her first entrance into this world, and Annie happily obeys. Fire lights everything around her _I’ve feared for years that it would be water_ and it burns, but life’s greatest pleasures only come after pain. It’s only reasonable to think death would be the same.

 

There are hisses of pain all around her, from creatures who can’t understand what a gift they’ve been given, how much less it will hurt once it’s all over, how there’s nothing worth living for in this world now, so you might as well explore the next. But then there’s a hand pulling her up, and it’s too small to be Finnick’s, but she’s sure he’ll be here soon. He’d never leave her all alone; that much, she knows for certain.

 

Katniss is yelling at her to keep moving, but she must be taking her to him. Annie will have to thank her later.


	7. Child Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in the tidal wave, never to escape. Fitting way for your story to end, isn't it?

Her hand, tucked into Katniss' like a mother and child, has started to swell, and Annie can see liquid leaking from the boils along her arm. They should hurt. She knows that much. And she knows that her name is Annie and that she once won the Games. Everything else is shrapnel, _once whole, now splintered into a million pieces, ready to cut your very soul away. Finnick's in pieces. I wonder if you could separate the two if you tried. It is what you promised, right? To be together forever?_

She counts the blisters. One  _the first time we met, it was just a few minutes before class started. You assumed he belonged in the younger group, because that was back when you were still taller than him._ Two  _you let him play with your hair once because he'd left his rope inside and you didn't want him to leave to grab it. He tried to be gentle, but those twists left such a tangle that you got out the scissors. If he hadn't figured it out just before you started to snip, you'd still have a short piece behind your right ear._ Three  _Finnick protecting you instead of himself, the mutt's jaw snapping down on his throat, his eyes meeting yours for the last time as his head is ripped from his body. And his blood is everywhere, coating you, smothering you, and you have to fight through to swim through it, but it's so much easier to let go and let yourself drift away on the tides. Finnick will keep you safe. He'll always be there, except he's not anymore, and that means he lied at the wedding. Your marriage was a lie played out for the cameras. How many times did he say he loved you? How many times did he say he loved them? Nobody keeps his affections for long._

 _How could you? He didn't want them. He doesn't want you. You never forced him. You don't know how he felt._  There's blood under her nails when she forces her hand away from her ear, and she is grateful. Perhaps a few of the demons can get out.  _Silly girl, does the stars go away during the day? Just because you can't see us doesn't mean we aren't there, and there are more than you can hope to count._

"They aren't real."  _Finnick's told me so many times that they can't hurt me unless I let them. But now he's gone and they're here and -_

_He's dead. He's dead, and you're alone, and he's never coming back. And you didn't keep his body, because he isn't even worth as much as the broken china cat in the drawer back home, and you'll never get to put his ashes in the ocean, so his soul will never be one with the sea. He'll never see his family, Mags, anyone that matters because you don't, Annie Cresta, you're filth. Finnick will be trapped here forever, in the Capitol, where dreams cower and nightmares become reality._

_Pulling him under._

She chokes through a sob, and her knees buckle underneath her. "Come on." She knows that voice. "Annie, come on, we need to keep going." Katniss' tugs on her arm, and she lurches forward one step, then another. It hurts, and she wonders if her shoulder is going to pop from its socket  _and rip off, and Katniss will carry that piece of you with her as she goes to find Snow, and she'll leave you here, to be soaked up by the ground, and everything will be all right. But don't you want to watch him die, make him pay for what he's done to Finnick?_

"That's better. Keep moving, Annie."

_He's never coming back. Everything else is a lie._

"I'm going to kill him." The first time, it is merely a whisper. "I'm going to kill him." As she says the words, her resolve strengthens. She has wanted to kill Snow for as long as she can remember. Before the Games, it was abstract. After he had split her life into  _before_ and  _after_ , it was more tangible. Now, that desire is her everything  _and when he's gone, you can be finished. Finnick believed in fate, said we all had one, and every path in your life coalesces to this one point, and once Snow is gone, you can be with him again, and both of you can finally be happy._

"Yeah." Katniss' smile shows her  _wolf_ teeth  _to steal my prey._ "Keep moving, and maybe we can do that."

But she won't let her, this, Annie knows. Because Katniss wants to see her own arrow fell Snow, but she doesn't understand, doesn't need it  _like air the way Annie does, and you can't stay here if she's going to stop you, because it's the one thing you can do for Finnick._ It hurts, a real, physical pain, and she wishes she could scratch all the way down to her heart and stop it from beating, because its usual  _lub-dub_ has changed to  _Fin-nick_ and she can't listen to it once a second for the rest of her life.  _Though if you play your cards right, that might not be very long at all._ Perhaps it's him, and this is the battle cry he has given her.  _Kill Snow. Kill Snow. Kill Snow._

_He's dead._

_Bang._ Screaming: men's, women's, children's,  _none of it matters_. It's here, this must be the end, and he's not with her to see it.  _Bang._ A couple runs past them, hands intertwined.  _Love can only end in heartbreak._  More screams, and one of them is Katniss, but can't she see that it doesn't matter? If they live or die, everything is the same. They're just pawns on the chessboard, and they'll hardly be noticed when they're gone.

Katniss has stopped now, and she's forcing Annie into an alley, tucking her in behind the trash can and saying she'll be back later. Good. Now that she's alone, she has time to plan.

 _She's going to kill him without you. Finnick's dead, and you're out with the trash where you belong. Stuck in the tidal wave, never to escape. Fitting way for your story to end, isn't it? The rocks cut, and they're still better than you deserve. You're mad, Annie Cresta, and now, there's nobody to save you._ She wants to argue, say it's not real, but she's not certain that distinction matters anymore. Annie settles for huddling in on herself, covering her ears, and waiting for fate to choose a course for her.

* * *

"Annie, open up."  _Open yourself up so they can hurt you. If you aren't a good girl, they'll force you. They can. You can't stop them._ "Annie, open your mouth."

She does, robotically, unfeeling. The mush they put in her mouth  _because they don't even trust you to chew your own food_ never has much of a taste, and so she doesn't feel bad about swallowing it without pausing to savor  _because Finnick doesn't get to enjoy his food anymore._

But nutrition is necessary. The doctors have told her that again and again until it's a running track in her head.  _Proper nutrition is important. Finnick's dead. You need to feed yourself to feed your baby. He's never coming back. You're never going to see him again. You don't deserve it._

She chokes as the nurse puts another spoonful in her mouth.  _You can't pretend it's not real. The teeth, long as your finger, went into his neck, and snap, pop goes the weasel, and you're all alone now, and nobody wants you, and –_

"Annie, I need you to finish this. It has protein for the baby." The nurse gets the paste on her lips when she jabs the spoon against her mouth.  _You can't have a baby. You're hardly more than a child yourself. Spoon-fed. Pitiful._

 _The baby, Child Tomorrow embodied._ Annie puts one hand over her abdomen, and she can just feel a lump beginning  _a cancer, devouring you while you feed it._

No, it's not real. "Stop." The nurse's hand stalls inches away from the needle  _for when you need to be put down like an animal._ "I'll do it myself." She will get better. She has to; she doesn't have any other choice now.

"I'll have to stay and watch you."

 _No, I don't need you. I can do it myself. Please help me. I can't do anything. I'm trapped and he's dead and there's nothing left for me anymore._ It's a warning, not a threat. Annie forces herself to recognize that and smiles at the woman. One spoonful, then a second. If she doesn't finish this, they're going to get out the feeding tube again. No, she doesn't need that. If she's going to have a baby, she's going to take care of it.  _Him, her, not it. Not Finnick, not you, an entire new person._ "Thank you," she says around another bite.  _He's dead, and he's lost in the Capitol, and you're never going to see him again._

The woman's face, usually so hard, softens. "It's good to see you getting better, Miss Cresta. I know these last few weeks have been difficult."

 _You could give up now. Put down the spoon, not open your mouth legs when they tell you to, and eventually, you'll die, and all three of you can be together._ "I'm glad to see it too." One more bite, one more step, one more  _everything,_ and if that's how she has to live for the rest of her life, so be it.

She's watched the man she loves suffer and die, and Annie will not watch history repeat itself with her child.


End file.
